Polly | Page 6

natural history. Polly was devoted to natural history, and in spite of
herself she suspended her tea-cup in the air while she listened.
"It is almost impossible, I know," concluded Dr. Maybright as he rose
from the table. "But it can be done. Oh, yes, boys, I don't want either of
you to try it, but still it can be done. If the hand is very steady, and
poised in a particular way, then the bird can be caught, but you must
know how to hold him. Yes--what is the matter, Polly?"
"I did it!" burst from Polly, "I caught two of them--darlings--I was
kissing them when--oh, father!"
Polly's face was crimson. All the others were staring at her.

"I want you, my dear," said her father, suddenly and tenderly. "Come
with me."
Again he drew her hand protectingly through his arm, and led her out
of the room.
"You were a very good, brave child at tea-time," he said. "But I
particularly wish you to cry. Tears are natural, and you will feel much
better if you have a good cry. Come upstairs now to Nurse and baby."
"Oh, no, I can't--I really can't see baby!"
"Why not?--She is a dear little child, and when your mother went away
she left her to you all, to take care of, and cherish and love. I think she
thought specially of you, Polly, for you always have been specially
fond of little children. Come to the nursery now with me. I want you to
take care of baby for an hour, while Nurse is at her supper."
Polly did not say another word. The doctor and she went together into
the old nursery, and a moment or two afterwards she found herself
sitting in Nurse's little straw arm-chair, holding a tiny red mite of a
baby on her knee. Mother was gone, and this--this was left in her place!
Oh, what did God mean? thought the woe-begone, broken-hearted
child.
The doctor did not leave the room. He was looking through some books,
a pile of old MS. books in one corner by the window, and had
apparently forgotten all about Polly and the baby. She held the wee
bundle without clasping it to her, or bestowing upon it any endearing or
comforting little touch, and as she looked the tears which had frozen
round her heart flowed faster and faster, dropping on the baby's dress,
and even splashing on her tiny face.
Baby did not like this treatment, and began to expostulate in a fretful,
complaining way. Instantly Polly's motherly instincts awoke; she wiped
her own tears from the baby's face, and raising it in her arms, pressed
its little soft velvet cheek to her own. As she did so, a thrill of warm
comfort stole into her heart.

"Polly," said her father, coming suddenly up to her, "please take good
care of baby till Nurse returns. I must go out now, I have some patients
to see, but I am going to prescribe a special little supper for you, which
Helen is to see you eat before you go to bed. Good-night, dear. Please
ask Nurse, too, if you can do anything in the morning to help her with
baby. Good-night, good-night, both of you. Why the little creature is
quite taking to you, Polly!"
Dr. Maybright was about to leave the room when Polly called him
back.
"Father, I must say one thing. I have been in a dreadful, dreadful dream
since mother died. The most dreadful part of my dream, the blackest
part, was about you."
"Yes, Polly, yes, dear."
"You were there, father, and you let her die."
Dr. Maybright put his arm round the trembling child, and drew her and
the baby too close to him.
"Not willingly," he said, in a voice which Polly had never heard him
use before. "Not willingly, my child. It was with anguish I let your
mother go away. But Polly, there was another physician there, greater
than I."
"Another?" said Polly.
"Yes, another--and He prescribed Rest, for evermore."
All her life afterwards Polly remembered these words of her father's.
They calmed her great sorrow, and in many ways left her a different
child.
CHAPTER IV.
QUITE A NEW SORT OF SCHEME.

On a certain sunny morning in August, four or five weeks after Mrs.
Maybright's death, six girls stood round Dr. Maybright in his study.
They were all dressed in deep mourning, but it was badly made and
unbecoming, and one and all looked untidy, and a little run to seed.
Their ages were as varied as their faces. Helen, aged sixteen, had a
slightly plump figure, a calm, smooth, oval face, and pretty gentle blue
eyes. Her hair was fair and wavy; she was the tidiest of the group, and
notwithstanding